


Escaping The Heat

by boingboing



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boingboing/pseuds/boingboing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When things heat up, James Vega and Steve Cortez cool off in the shuttle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escaping The Heat

When rituals are performed for our own pleasure, does it profane them when others observe and derive the same degree of entertainment?

There was something about watching Lieutenant James Vega breaking down a rifle to clean it. Something fascinating. Something alluring. His basic training was showing to great effect. He could disassemble a weapon of death and destruction; reduce it down to its component parts in the space of minutes. It was captivating. Mesmerizing. 

Perhaps even a little erotic. 

Steve Cortez turned to focus on the reports he was reviewing and tried, with no amount of success, to ignore the large soldier standing at the weapons bench. He wiped the sweat that beaded across his forehead. The air recirculation in the shuttle bay was nonexistent at the moment, an unpleasant fact recently confirmed by Lieutenant Adams in engineering.

Adams assured them the air coolers would be back online as quickly as they could work. In the background, he could hear Donnelly grousing about having to go back into the air ducts again. Until such time as they were operational all nonessential areas of the ship that didn't require environmental balances were reduced to the basics of life support. 

That made for a very humid work environment. The heat building up in the bay was not helped by the fact that James was there without a shirt and every muscle shifted in an attractive display of human grace and power while he hummed tunelessly at his task. 

"Enjoying the show, Esteban?" James called out. Steve glanced over his shoulder again, eyes drawn to the bold lines of tattoos racing over sweat-sheened skin. Their brazen lines compelled him to look up. He met James' smirking, infuriating grin. "I thought so."

Steve managed an indifferent shrug. "It's hard to ignore you, Mr. Vega," he replied, aware his slight embarrassment at being caught made his face heat. Caught gawking, and not for the first time in his association with James, there was no reason to deny it now. James's laugh echoed through the hanger. It was good to see the large man still kept his sense of humor. Considering the stresses they were facing, it was hard to hold on to at times. At least it was for Steve. Too much lost. Too much that he'd never get back. 

Ancient history, Steve supposed. History that was hard to leave behind. The shrine on the Citadel, dedicated to those lost in recent Reaper attacks, went a little towards his being able to recover from his loss. Coupled with the support of friends he considered family, every day was a little easier.

When he looked at James again, he was met with a look that defied description. Like James knew something or was considering something. The man had a tight mind, sharp and discerning, even if it was buried beneath layers of career soldier mentality. It was a look, though, that cut too deep, felt too personal. He needed distance.

"Is that a new tattoo I see on your back?" Since he wasn't getting any work done between the heat generated by minimal air circulation and James Vega, he gave it up as a lost cause. It occurred to him that James was there not just to clean his Matlock after their raid on a Cerberus lab.

The big show-off. 

Since he wasn't being productive, he leaned against his work the console and crossed his arms over his chest. If James went to all this trouble to give him a show, he might as well enjoy without hiding it.

James twisted to look over his shoulder. "Yeah. It is."

"That's the N-7 logo. Looking to get into the ranks of the elite, lieutenant?"

The shrug may have been meant to look casual but Steve knew James well enough to recognize a little embarrassment. "Congratulations."

"Nothing to congratulate yet. I was tapped to participate if I wanted, just before Hell came to Earth. Can't be a part of the program officially until we win this war and there's a program to return _to_." James methodically cleaned the gun components with a cautious care that he rarely reserved for anything else save for firing it. The man's size belied the surprising grace held within. 

"But you _will_ go?" Steve had been set to rib James about it. Something about the tattoo making it official somehow, even if it was set in James's mind, made it serious. "When the fighting's over?"

James gestured with the barrel brush over his shoulder to tap at the new ink. "I think this should be your answer, Esteban." He half turned to catch Steve's look. "I don't know if it's the right thing to do but I figure if I'm killed in action, at least I was committed in some small way, even though it can't acknowledged officially."

"Do you always get new tattoos when something momentous occurs in your life?" Steve wandered over, noting that some of the patterns of tattoos looked a little newer than others. "A way to journal the events of your life, instead of a diary?"

"You should consider it," James said. Now that Steve was closer, he abandoned his cleaning and turned to face him. "Unless you're the Dear Diary type, not that there's anything wrong with it."

Steve shook his head. He motioned for James to move over so they both had room to lean against the weapons bench. "Nah. Some things in my life I don't want chronicled. Best left forgotten."

"Like how you suck at poker."

"Who says I'm not just letting you win? For such a big guy, you have a surprisingly fragile ego. I know. I work with you."

"Like hell. You just hate losing." James slapped Steve on the shoulder and turned back to finish the rifle. 

"Yeah, we'll see," Steve countered. At least the heaviness of the conversation, the weight of his own thoughts had been effectively deflected. He smiled to himself. James was good about that. He always knew when it was needed.

A trickle of sweat slithered down his spine. Certainly, the crawling sensation over his skin now was triggered by that, and effectively derailed any other train of thought he had. He tugged at his t-shirt at an attempt to fan himself. He'd abandoned his uniform shirt hours ago in an effort to cool off -- to no avail. "Shit it's hot."

"Contact Adams. Get an ETA on the repairs."

"Already did. He said it would be at least a few more hours. However many a few is." Steve headed back to his station and punched the controls to cycle the Kodiak to maintenance position. There had to be work he could do in the shuttle. He could cut on the air and work in the cooler environment of the cockpit.

And get away from his thoughts. They lingered too close, clung too near to him in the stifling heat. 

At first, Steve took his time. Stored loose equipment, adjusted settings and controls back to default standards, even took his time to clean the seats and control panels. The air was a welcome change from the oppressive heat building up in the bay itself. The change in scenery helped to pull his focus back around. Around to the present, to the job, to those still alive. To all the things he had left in this damn war that he wouldn't allow the Reapers or the Collectors to take from him.

He couldn't save Robert. He could save Shepard. He could save the crew of the _Normandy_.

Heat wafting through the shuttle in a rolling wave was a potent reminder of what he was trying to escape. "Shut the door, already, Vega."

"Easy, Esteban. I'm working on it." He turned just in time to see James shutting it again. Sweat was a soft sheen across his bare back and Steve took a deep, steady breath not to focus on it for too long. Didn't he just try to escape this?

He was able to finally move past Robert, put the memories of his husband to rest. The presence, the noticeable presence of the lieutenant -- with his body forged from fighting and his own meticulous upkeep -- wasn't helping him to stay focused on the current task at hand.

"Looks like you had the right idea," James said, flopping into the other seat next to Steve. 

"I really did have work to do in here." 

"Uh huh."

Steve gave James a look. 

James held his hands up. "I believe you, Esteban. The way you fuss over her, no one would think otherwise." He grinned at Steve, one of those smiles of teeth and playfulness and Steve's chest felt the increase in pounding from his heart. One of those pounding moments, beating hard, frighteningly hard and pulled your consciousness into your body in a mild moment of disorienting fear that your heart would explode, before returning to normal. "But you have to admit, the timing is pretty good."

And now that the cooler air was hitting James' skin, it was cooling him off. Steve's attention was so honed, so focused on not noticing, that of course he noticed. It was the first thing his gaze was drawn to when he looked over at James again. 

Nipples pulled hard and tight. Steve's tongue snaked out, a subconscious response to the tactile sensation of his lips forming a suction over one and teasing at it until...

"Christ."

"Huh?" James tapped over the controls, his attention on the readouts. 

"Mr. Vega. Could you do me a favor?" And if his voice sounded tight, it had to be due to his exasperation and not to the aggravation he was feeling over wholly inappropriate thoughts now a permanent fixture in his imagination. 

"Sure."

"Put a shirt on." Steve slumped in his seat, and busied himself by pulling up diagnostic routines he'd already run just to give himself something else to do. He watched as the displays rotated through an all systems check. Behind him, the manual latch to the shuttle door ratcheted shut with a heavy mechanical thud. 

Frowning, he turned to see if someone had come in and he noticed that the door was now in the locked and sealed position. He swiveled back to look at James in question, where he was greeted with an up close and personal view of an almost perfect set of abs. "Lieutenant..."

James stood there, hands on his hips and looking down his body at Steve with that annoying smile he used when he knew he had a sure hand in a card game. "Does the view bother you?" James asked in a slow drawl.

"Bother me? No. I think you know that." Steve had to sit back in his seat and tilt a little so he could look up the sculpted chest (and Jesus, still tight nipples) to James' grinning mug. "You show it off often enough knowing full well I'm looking."

"Yeah, but you don't do anything about it."

Steve's mouth opened but his stunned silence was hard to get past. "I, uh," he cleared his throat to buy time for his thoughts, which had shut down at the even remote possibility of where this was going, to restart again. "I...wasn't aware you had interest."

The huge shoulders rolled in a shrug and James turned to lean against the console. "I guess that's fair, considering. But have you ever heard me gloat about my conquests?"

It wasn't until James said anything that Steve realized he hadn't. Not even when the tequila flowed liberally, and the nights drifted into early morning with drunk and exhausted lowered inhibitions. James was never so crass as to boast about any sexual prowess. "I always assumed you had more confidence than the need to impress us with your exploits."

"I do," James said. His hand slid down his chest (past tight nipples, dear God) and rested on the belt buckle on his pants. The way his fingers draped across drew Steve's attention to the thick line that bulged beneath the zipper. Shit, judging from that alone, the man was hung and Steve's mouth went dry. "I may be an arrogant asshole when I have a gun in my hand," James continued, "but I got it to back it up. So I don't really feel the need to brag, you know?"

"No. I guess you wouldn't." Steve scrubbed at his face, pressed his fingers against his eyes because this was going to fuel so many damn nights of jerking off in his bunk. "And I really need you to put a shirt on now."

"Nah." James kicked a foot out. It hooked it beneath Steve's calf and he gave it a playful lift. "I kind of like the reaction it's getting."

"You may end up with more than you bargained for."

"Then it'll be about damn time."

Steve's head snapped up to fix James with a stare. Was this the reason why they never heard James crow about his prowess in the sack? Even with the shuttle air circulators working at optimum, Steve felt warm. The cotton t-shirt irritated his skin. He shifted and pulled at it again.

"What's up?" James asked and Steve would have sworn that the man was enjoying how uncomfortable he was.

"Shirt feels stiff and prickly." His eyes went wide in perfect concert with James' laughter. 

"I like your choice of words, Esteban."

The tension was too much. James was right there and the invitation couldn't be clearer if it had been blared it out on the loudspeaker. 

He slid out of his seat and landed on his knees in front of James. If there was going to be any regret, he'd deal with it later. There was just too much here in one muscular package to walk away. He pushed James' hand out of the way and went to work on the trouser fastenings that gave way to his impatience. 

Pristine white underwear peeked out, the tip of James' cock making the cotton damp from precome. Jesus. A turned-on James was heady and overwhelming. Looked like he had been for a while, judging by how damp his underwear felt when Steve pressed his mouth over the cloth, over the tip. He bit down, using his teeth and it brought out a delicious guttural moan from James that vibrated through Steve's entire body. 

James' hand settled on the back of his head, gently, and only pulled enough to show his own impatience. He braced against the edge of the console, his deep inhale rasping in the closed space. Sucking the air through the fabric rewarded him with another low moan. "Come on, Steve," James urged. That desire-thick voice was going to be Steve's undoing.

Steve hooked his fingers around both waistbands, trousers and underwear, and pulled with a rough tug. The stiff, cut, cock bobbed heavily in front of his lips. It was hard to resist swiping with his tongue at the clear pre-come leaking from the tip. It had a sweet taste to it. No romantic associations with it, just that James had been eating something heavy in protein not long ago.

He circled the head, feeling the texture of the skin around the ridge before plunging down in one swift motion to take him in. James bucked up, a restrained motion that pulled through his body as he worked to maintain control. Steve could feel him tighten beneath his hands. He dug his fingers into hard ass cheeks and pulled to hold James still. 

Steve wanted his lips to go numb from sucking James. He wanted to feel slick warmth flood his mouth. He wanted to taste more, see if James was loading on his protein in order to keep his body fueled, to see if his come was as sweet.

Hell, he wanted to do it all. To fuck James and hear his voice ricochet through the shuttle; to feel James's body clamp down when he came, coating the control board and spraying the vid screen and knowing the next time Admiral Hackett's face appeared to give Shepard last minute mission orders that his virtual face had been coated in come. He wanted James to fuck him, to feel the sheer power flexing and thrusting behind him as the muscle machine pounded him into the metal until his legs couldn't hold him up any longer.

"It's gonna be over soon, Esteban." James' voice startled him; cut through his self-indulgent thoughts. He realized he'd been working James enthusiastically toward one goal. 

A decision had to be made and it had to be done soon. He let James fall from his mouth he wiped at the saliva that slicked his chin. "Here I am sucking your dick and we haven't even kissed properly."

"Always figured you'd be the kind of guy who got down to business first. I wasn't going to stop you." James curled his fingers in Steve's shirt and tugged him until he collided with the rock hard body. He didn't have a chance to protest before James' tongue was in his mouth and almost down his throat.

Their arms collided and shifted, both trying to find a way to hold on. The awkward shift of their feet scuffled on the decking as they attempted to avoid stepping on each other. James pawed at him until he was able to wiggle his hands beneath clothing and touch Steve's chest. He felt like he was on fire. 

Steve fumbled with his trousers, trying to dig his own cock out. It was hard to think with the way James dominated his mouth; the way his hands moved with such confidence over his skin. James tweaked at one of his nipples, a rough pinch that threatened to take Steve's legs right out from under him. 

He found his focus again and wrapped his hands around both cocks. Their panting breaths and the slick sound of his hand moving down their shafts slapped in the close cockpit. James moaned and Steve drank the sound. 

A finger penetrated his ass and Steve's vision grayed out. God, how long had it been? James' finger felt thick and large and perfect as it wiggled to plunge in deeper. He couldn't decide whether thrust up into his hand as it jerked them fast or push back and let James finger fuck him. 

It only took one more pinch over his nipple -- if he was ever this responsive to Robert, he couldn't remember -- the heady, and far too short, time he spent touching and being touched had his dick jumping in his hand. Hot streaks landed over his fingers, his wrist, James' stomach. Some may have even landed on his boots and he just didn't fucking care. James' finger in his ass, his tongue down his throat and one nipple held in a merciless grasp and he was grunting and jerking and coming.

James didn't let go, didn't let up. He held on, held to Steve and rammed his finger in as far as it would go. He tore their mouths apart at the last moment to sigh out his final release and adding to the mess trapped between their bodies. 

"Shit," he said with a soft sigh and he tilted toward Steve, his head come to rest on Steve's shoulder. "Holy shit, you're hot, Esteban."

"You were making some pretty interesting sounds yourself, Mr. Vega." Steve was loathe to have James remove his finger. He didn't realize how much he missed being filled with, hell, with anything. Cock, finger, it didn't matter. 

He winced when James shifted away, leaving his ass empty and needy, leaving _him_ empty and needy and he covered it by looking for something to clean up. James had far less of his clothing to straighten and he took over cleaning duty so Steve could attend to his. 

"You make it easy to want to come back for more." James wasn't looking at him so Steve couldn't tell what that tone in his voice meant. It didn't hold the confidence he was used to hearing. It sounded...Steve didn't know. Different.

"That's good," Steve said, smoothing a hand down James' chest. He watched the nipple harden again, and draw up beneath the swipes of his thumb. "But next time, we do this laying down. Standing up is hard on my calves."

"Just take me back to your bunk, Esteban." James said cheerfully. When their gazes met, it held something indefinable. Hope, maybe. God knew they needed more of it and if they got it with hot bodies and mouths and hands, well...it was good enough for a start, at least.

Then James smile that brilliant toothy, cocky smile and Steve felt like things might just work out for all of them.

**Author's Note:**

> File clean up, found another fic not posted. What was I thinking? Here it is in all its rough glory.


End file.
